Blood Roses
Not American Beauty
Primly and perfectly attired in an adorable and dainty blue crochet lace dress and blue flowers in her hair, six-year-old Cindi rapidly pedaled her pretty new bike with little feet in ruffled white socks with a blue lace skull and black patent leather Mary Jane’s towards an unwanted destination.
Her pretty new bike was creaking and clanking from the speed she’d achieved. Long beautiful blonde hair tousled down her back and beautiful cobalt blue eyes dazed attentively on the sidewalk ahead.
Irritated at what she saw, she grabbed the metal bell on the handle bar and pressed it repeatedly at the cute little kitten which laid in her path. Increasing her speed as if to kill it, the kittens eyes widened and it jumped out of her way with mere seconds to spare.
The kitten was shaking as she flew by her not caring. Cindi was on a mission and only cared about completing it. The bike had a wicker basket attached to its frame and a dozen perfect red ‘American Beauty’ roses laid within.
Her Mother had carefully wrapped them in brown butcher paper to protect the delicate petals being bruised and scraped by the wicker basket. A voice yelled “Good Afternoon, Cindi. Are those for your Grandma Ambrose?”
